


Sign Me Up

by Querulousgawks



Series: Tumblr Prompts [10]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Flirting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protectiveness, Ransom is a coral reef, just bros dreaming of their future together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 22:26:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6168976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Querulousgawks/pseuds/Querulousgawks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by this <a href="http://cymion.tumblr.com/post/140433106615/headcanon-ransom-and-holster-spend-like-200-years">beautiful art</a> by cymion and by the accompanying text: “ransom and holster spend like 200 years trying to come up with a COOL signature for FANS”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sign Me Up

Somewhere in that 200 years of practicing, elbowing each other back and forth over the same sheet of paper and holding it up for squinty evaluation, they remember that they were going to learn to forge each other's signatures. Maybe for nefarious homework purposes, or maybe because of that time Ransom was held up at the border and Holster had to sort out their Haus paperwork with a skeptical Samwell adminstrator. ("He's CANADIAN," Holster had yelled at intervals, pacing in front of the bursar's window like it was a net with an unreliable goalie. Ransom had had to send apology flowers; even then, one of the deans still flinches perceptibly when anyone in an SMH hoodie walks into his office.)

( _He’s a coral reef,_ Adam hadn’t said, because customs wasn’t like a biology final, even horrible American customs with their homeland security attitude as puffed-up as the pants they were tucking into their boots, these days. It was condescending to assume Justin wasn’t breezing through it, like test anxiety was some indication that he couldn’t handle any stressful situation - that was the kind of bullshit that had Rans refusing to get officially screened to take his tests untimed. He’d been taking care of himself his whole life before they’d become the best d-men in the NCAA, Adam _knew_ that, but - _On my way, babe._ Ransom had texted right before Adam really lost it. _Have you seen the new pants on these fuckers? Some Anne of Green Gables shit, like they’re afraid to show a little ankle._ Adam had sat down right on the shitty office carpet with their half-signed sublet agreement crumpled in his hand and laughed until he cried.)

Anyway, maybe it just seems like the kind of thing best friends should know how to do. They flip the paper and abandon their COOL FAN AUTOGRAPH STYLE for serious, mature, Holster’s-Million Dollar-Hockey-Contract style ("whatever, Rans. C'mon, show me that McDreamy prescription signature.")

So Ransom signs his name neatly across the fresh blank page, and Adam carefully copies it. "Justin Oluransi.”

"What? Bro, is that even a J? You know Canadian's not a different language, right, we've got the same - "

"Shut up, it's a French J. Let me just -" 

And Ransom tries to take the pen from him, because _French. J?_ but Holster cheats with his big shoulders and tries again:

"Justin Oluransi."

"Justin Oluransi."

"Justin Oluransi."

And Ransom is still chirping his form and squirming under his arms for the pen, but it's getting better, Adam thinks, and then something about the list hits him and he points out, snickering, "this looks so creepy, like a serial killer obsessed with you - oh! or like a ghost trying to get through -" 

"Hey!" Ransom redoubles his efforts, because fuck Holster there _are no ghosts,_ he _knows_ Ransom hates that shit, but Adam’s biceps are like a _wall_ and all of Ransom's tricks are failing him. Holster just snickers and drops his wrist to try again as Ransom says sharply, trying to sound just pissed instead of half-pissed and half-hysterical with laughter: 

"Damnit, Birkholtz."

And you know how words just get in your head, when you're concentrating on something else - or three somethings else, like writing and defending your pen and your best friend's long fingers digging into your muscles - anyway, Adam writes "Justin" and then Rans says "Birkholtz" so he writes that, too.

"Justin Birkholtz."

He drops the pen. Ransom grabs it - _never doubt those reflexes_ , Adam thinks dumbly, then moves to cover the paper but Ransom gets that, too. Adam's slow with panic. He’s overreacting, he knows, the only consequence here is some serious chirping, it's just that - it looked good.

It looked good, that's all.

Ransom casts him a triumphant look, then a confused one, and uncrumples the page. His face _lights up,_ and Adam braces himself for the onslaught, but he gets another one of those looks first, inquiring. Ransom's incredulous grin has dropped to something small but sure, pleased.

"Are you kidding me, Holtzy?"

Right, chirp it is, although that sounded kind of soft for one. God only knows what Ransom is drawing. He ducks his head, covers the paper for a minute, and then slides it back across.

"Adam Oluransi looks _way better,_ bro."


End file.
